


If Only

by Johnlocksuckedmein



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26496136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlocksuckedmein/pseuds/Johnlocksuckedmein
Summary: Getting together
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 1
Kudos: 66





	If Only

His werewolf was hyperventilating. Well, not really his. If only. Anyway, hyperventilating and having some sort of crisis and about to break the steering wheel of his … “Whoa, big guy. The Camaro does not have super-healing capabilities,” Stiles blurted as he slipped into the passenger seat.

Derek looked up, red-eyed and desperate, flared his nostrils, and growled. What. Was. Going. On? Stiles and Scott had just arrived at the loft with pizza for the pack. It was a typical Saturday afternoon, just before Thanksgiving, their freshman year at the local community college. Derek had come out of the kitchen, drying his hands, smiling, starting to probably say something insulting. Then he’d flared his nostrils … wait, starting to see a pattern.

“Is something bothering your sniffer, dude? Oh, Scott said I reeked, but why would that bother you? Isn’t it my default setting?”

“I thought I could wait,” Derek panted. “I thought I could handle it. And now I’ve ruined everything. Again.” Head met steering wheel.

“Dude. Calm down. Back up the car. Not literally. No driving while having a breakdown. What have you ruined? What does this have to do with smelling me? My smell has nothing to do with you.” Snort. If only.

Derek growled again and head met steering wheel three more times. “I can go. I can, um, go live with Cora in South America. Yes. I’ll go. I can’t. I can’t stay. If you really love him, I can’t stay.”

“Whoa. Did I say that already? I repeat, whoa. Love who? Why are you moving?”

“I smell him. On you.” And those were tears in Derek’s eyes. Probably just from the hyperventilating. Werewolves didn’t usually weep on their steering wheels, in Stiles’ experience.

“Scott was right! I do reek! I’m sorry! I was so hungover this morning, I didn’t shower and. Oh. Him? Oh. What?” Stiles wished he had a steering wheel to bang his own head against. Maybe the pieces of this puzzle would fall into place. Nothing made sense. Well, that at least was normal for interactions with Derek. Why had the pack sent him out to deal with this after Derek stormed out? Surely they realized Stiles’ smell was the problem.

Derek was still tapping the wheel with his forehead and muttering.

“So,” Stiles tried, “you think I love … whats-his-face from the party last night?”

“I can smell it,” Derek muttered.

“What you smell is not love, Derek.”

“What?”

“Jizz, Derek. That’s jizz.”

“What?”

Stiles began to smile. He could always make the pieces fit eventually, given enough exposure to whatever bizarre feedback was coming from his werewolf. His. “Whats-his-face will always have a very special place in my heart. Because he precipitated this conversation. This little conversation right here.” Stiles’ hand landed on Derek’s back.

“You don’t love him? Really?” Derek looked up, eyes green and hazel and wet.

“You complete idiot. No, I don’t love some random dude you’ve never smelled before, whose I name I can’t remember.” Stiles’ hand started to rub in circles. “It’s a little hard. Heh. A bit difficult to even think about anyone else when I’ve been in love with you for years. Why didn’t you say something?”

“I wanted you to have a chance to grow up, see the world.” Head met steering wheel once more. “I didn’t want you to choose me because I was the only choice,” Derek whispered.

“Dude, you have always been the only choice and you always will be, even if I live to be 180 and see every country on the planet. Kiss me, you idiot. I don’t want to smell like him anymore,” Stiles begged.

So head left steering wheel for the last time and met something else entirely. There were more tears. More whispers.

The pack heard the Camaro start up and pull away. “Ok, right?” Erica asked Scott.

“Yeah, they both left. I think they figured it out,” he answered. “Good call, setting up that hookup, Erica. How did you know?”

“Boyd wouldn’t shut up about the scent of their pining. You know he’s a big softy, right?”

Boyd glared. Erica laughed and slugged him in the arm. They all lived happily ever after.


End file.
